My billionaire ex-husband wants me back

Silver moonlight poured across the Watson estate, its glow casting long shadows through the glass panes. Laughter echoed from the spacious living room—carefree, hearty, and cruel in its oblivion. The Watsons were basking in comfort. And Scarlet Andy? She was drowning in silence.

Upstairs in the master bedroom, Scarlet sat hunched on the edge of the bed, folding the last of the laundry she'd washed with blistered fingers. Her vision swam, heat making her cheeks flush as sweat trickled down her neck. Her body ached. Fever gripped her like an iron glove, but rest had become a stranger—just like love.

She reached for the next piece of clothing. Lucas' suit. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pressed the fabric between her palms.

Her heart whispered, You’ve given too much.

The door creaked open.

“There you are. Are you planning to spend the whole night folding clothes like a sloth?” Clair's voice sliced through the air, sharp and venom-laced. She leaned against the doorframe with crossed arms and a look of distaste etched across her perfectly made-up face.

Scarlet didn’t flinch. She was used to it. The insults. The mockery. The never-ending reminders that she didn’t belong.

“I'll be done soon,” Scarlet said softly. “Do you need anything?”

“Clearly.” Clair rolled her eyes. “The AC’s blowing hot air, Maria’s not feeling well, and we need iced juice—fast. You know how fragile she is. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to her. Lucas would lose his mind.”

Scarlet’s grip on the suit tightened. Her jaw clenched. Maria. Always Maria.

She had given Lucas everything—her time, her respect, her loyalty. And in return, she got cold stares and colder nights. Her heart beat quietly in the shadows of a man who never saw her. Who never wanted her. Not when Maria Owen existed.

Clair lingered in the doorway. Her eyes scanned Scarlet with open disdain.

“You know,” she began, her voice dripping with venom, “you were never supposed to marry my brother. If Uncle Lewis hadn’t pushed for it, Maria would’ve been Mrs. Watson by now. But she needed rest, and you? You were the convenient fill-in. A placeholder. It’s been a year, and look at you—old, barren, and irrelevant.”

Scarlet’s heart snapped as Lucas’ suit slipped from her fingers and dropped to the floor. The air felt too tight, like a fist closing around her ribs. But she said nothing.

Clair smirked and walked away, her heels clacking like cruel punctuation.

And then—voices.

Familiar. Too familiar.

From down the hall, Scarlet heard Lucas speaking. His tone was low. Gentle. The kind of tone she had begged for.

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” he murmured.

“Lucas,” Maria’s voice responded, coy and sultry, “am I ruining your marriage? Am I a burden to you?”

“Never,” Lucas said, with a tenderness Scarlet had never received. “I only care about you, my dear.”

Her knees gave out. She sank to the floor, one hand pressed against her mouth to muffle the sob that threatened to escape. All this time, she had been telling herself love could grow. That if she tried hard enough, Lucas would notice her.

But no. He had already chosen.

And it wasn’t her.

Her eyes trailed to the heap of clothes beside her… and the condoms she had found in his pockets. The truth bled in slowly, steadily, until it soaked through every piece of hope she had left.

The door opened again.

Maria.

Clad in smugness and expensive perfume, she strutted into the room like she owned it.

“I’m still waiting on that iced juice, Miss Andy. Sorry to bother you,” she said with a grin that screamed mockery.

Scarlet stood slowly, holding Lucas’ suit once more.

“Small correction,” she said coldly, her eyes narrowing. “It’s Mrs. Watson. Not Miss Andy.”

Maria’s smile faded, her eyes narrowing.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” she hissed. “You may be his wife by law, but Lucas loves me. Always has. This marriage is a sham. You’re nothing but a shadow wearing a ring.”

Scarlet inhaled shakily but didn’t look away.

“Love doesn’t erase the law,” she said, lifting her left hand. “I’m the one with the ring. The one whose name is beside his on legal papers. Not you.”

Maria’s face twisted in fury.

“You think a ring matters? He’s never even touched you, has he? Meanwhile, he’s memorized every inch of me.”

Scarlet flinched. The words cut deeper than any blade.

“Get out,” she whispered.

Maria took a step closer. “Or what? You’ll cry?”

“I said get out!”

Maria sneered. Then, without warning, she grabbed a mug from the shelf, smashed it on the floor, and sliced her own hand on a shard.

Scarlet gasped. “What are you—Maria!”

She reached to help, but Maria slapped her hand away and deliberately screamed.

Moments later, Lucas and Clair burst into the room. Scarlet’s blood ran cold.

“Lucas, she attacked me!” Maria sobbed, holding out her bleeding hand like a trophy. “She went mad!”

“No! That’s not—” Scarlet tried to explain, but Lucas stormed past her.

He didn’t look at her. Not once.

He bent over Maria instead, inspecting her wound, whispering softly as he helped her up with Clair’s assistance.

Scarlet staggered. Her vision dimmed. She felt the warm trail of blood on her cheek from the cut Maria had given her… but no one noticed.

No one cared.

She was still standing.

But inside, she had shattered.